Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
It’s hard not to compare the two men.
Zane may be Nora’s biological father, but River’s been showing up for her in all the ways that matter.
Right now, what I need more than anything is clarity.
And the truth.
Twenty minutes later, I pull up in front of a sleek glass-and-steel high-rise a few blocks off Lakeshore Drive. I maneuver into a metered space and then sit for a moment, staring up at the modern facade. Gold-lettered signage glints in the sunlight, and two valets stand at attention in tailored coats, ready to open doors with gloved hands.
Even from here, it’s obvious this place is far beyond anything I could afford on my own. I grab my purse and step out of the SUV, nerves stretching taut with every step toward the entrance.
A doorman in a dark suit gives me a quick nod as I pass, his attention fixed on the cluster of photographers loitering just outside the revolving doors.
“Miss! Are you here for Gigi?”
“Is the wedding still on?”
“Can you confirm the pregnancy rumors?”
Their questions are fired off in rapid succession without time for a response.
I duck my head and push through the glass doors, the noise trailing behind me like static I can’t quite shake.
Inside, the lobby is stunning. Marble floors gleam beneath my shoes, polished to the point where they reflect every light and shadow. Navy velvet chairs are arranged in perfect symmetry around low, brass-trimmed tables stacked with glossy magazines I doubt anyone actually reads. Above it all, a massive chandelier drips from the ceiling like glass rain, refracting light in a thousand directions.
It’s the kind of space that feels curated. As I move across the lobby, I pass two staff members standing behind the concierge desk.
One mutters, “These reality TV people are a nightmare. Why did the board approve their application?”
“Don’t get me started,” the other replies. “There’s a camera crew coming again this afternoon. Third time this week.”
Their voices trail off as I keep walking.
I half-expect to be stopped, questioned, or redirected. But one of the photographers from outside manages to slip in behind another guest, and security rushes to deal with him.
The moment buys me enough time to step into the elevator and press the button for the fifteenth floor. My fingers tremble as they leave the panel, and the doors close with a barely audible whoosh. The car begins its smooth, soundless ascent.
In the mirrored walls, my reflection stares back at me with shoulders that are squared, eyes that are sharp, and a mouth set in a firm line. Determination wars with dread on my face, and I’m not entirely sure which one is winning.
Once the elevator glides to a stop, the doors open to a hallway wrapped in quiet luxury. Plush carpeting muffles my footsteps as dark-paneled walls glow under muted, recessed lights. Everything about this place radiates exclusivity and power.
It’s a far cry from the modest apartment Zane used to rent.
This isn’t merely a different address, it’s a different world.
My pulse stutters the moment his unit number comes into view, and I slow to a halt in front of the door. My knuckles hover in the air before I force myself to rap them against the wood.
Silence.
I wait ten long seconds and then knock again. It’s louder this time, the sound sharper than I intend.
Still nothing.
Unease twists low in my stomach, warning that maybe this was a mistake. But I didn’t drag myself all the way here just to turn around. Not when I need answers and there’s so much at stake.
I shift my weight, teetering on the edge of retreat, when the lock clicks and the door swings open.
Gigi fills the doorway, framed by chic, modern lines and a warm glow that spills from inside. A rose-colored silk robe hangs precariously off one shoulder, exposing golden skin and a fair amount of cleavage.
She looks me over with a flat, disinterested gaze. “So, where’s the food?”
I blink, momentarily thrown off by the question. “Sorry. What?”
“The takeout,” she snaps. “Aren’t you from Gold Coast Table?”
“No.” I straighten, trying to reclaim some sense of control over the situation. “I’m not here with food. I’m Callie. Nora’s mother. We met at the Railers event last month.”
She squints, her perfectly glossed lips twisting slightly, as if she’s trying to place my face. There’s absolutely no flicker of recognition in her expression.
“Oh. Right,” she finally mutters.
I can’t help but wonder if she remembers Zane even has a child.
The robe slips again, this time leaving little doubt if she’s wearing anything underneath.
I quickly avert my gaze. “Is Zane here? Can I talk to him?”
Without answering, she turns her head and yells, “Zane! Your baby mama’s here!”
The words land like a slap. Before I can respond, she’s already walking away, her bare feet silent on the polished floors, leaving me standing awkwardly at the threshold.